


Paradise Regained

by heliocentricity



Series: Paradise Regained [1]
Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-29 11:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20081620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocentricity/pseuds/heliocentricity
Summary: Victor and Henry return from Ingolstadt after Victor's experiment, but this time there is no dead body waiting for them.  (AKA keeping as close to canon as possible, except this time around everyone gets the happy ending they deserve.)  Everyone's gay, but it's not the main focus of the story.





	1. “Musings on the Road to Geneva”

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be a little longer than what I've posted in the past, so I'll be dividing it into chapters, as a way of motivating myself to finish it. Each chapter should be fairly short, and I'll add tags as needed.

“Well, how does it feel to be back home again, Victor? Are you nervous?” Henry squeezed my leg affectionately as our conveyance rattled on the uneven road approaching my family’s dwelling.

I hesitated before answering. Rather than try to describe my own mercurial emotions, I elected to remark upon something more reliable. Thus, I replied carefully, “The country is beautiful this time of year.”

Henry hummed in agreement and looked past me at the snow-capped mountains that were visible through the window.

It was nearing the end of May, and my friend and I were returning from the University of Ingolstadt. We had meant to come back sooner, but snowy roads had forced us to repeatedly delay the trip. Henry had been absent from home since the November before last, but I had been gone much longer and felt that the Earth-shattering nature of my scientific discoveries and their aftermath had left me much changed. My friend, on the other hand, was the same amiable and kind soul as ever. The only thing observably different about him was his new concern for any minute sign that my health was once again deteriorating. I supposed he had always been worried about my well-being, in the way close companions are, but now there was a solid foundation on which his fears were based, and I felt there was little I could do to reassure him, save for the impossible feat of making a full recovery.

Indeed, Henry was not the only one weighed down with fear. I, too, felt agitated by nerves and worried that my condition might worsen, plunging me back into the utmost pits of despair. After all, this trip home was my biggest excursion since falling ill about a year-and-a-half ago. Henry had witnessed my greatest panic to date and had been with me ever since. Though he knew I was doing much better now than when he first laid eyes upon me at the university, it was obvious he was constantly surveilling me for signs of an impending relapse, especially in anticipation of the questions my family members might ask upon my return. In written correspondence, Henry had downplayed the extent of my illness, but this would be much harder to feign in person. My family would be able to see for themselves the wreck into which I had deteriorated while at Ingolstadt.

In all honesty, I was as anxious for my mental health as Henry. But unlike my companion, I knew the true cause of my frayed nerves. It was not overwork or school-based anxiety, as he seemed to assume, but the culmination of my long and draining research. I had yet to decide whether it had all been a success or a failure. True, I accomplished what I initially set out to do, but at what cost? I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the miserable wretch to which I had so horribly given life since that cursed night, and the paranoia that it was constantly out there watching me and waiting for the proper moment to reveal itself filled me with an ever-present sense of dread.

I felt safer being around Henry than I did on my own. Partially, it was because my friend always brought out the best aspects of me, and it was difficult to feel frustrated beside his radiance. Another part of me felt it would be so terrible for Henry to see the creature and comprehend all it signified that such a meeting could never come to pass. Accordingly, when the wretch appeared to me in my nightmares and deliriums, it never tried to make itself known to anyone else but me. My eyes would be arrested so that I could not help but stare at its hideous form, and I would lament the time I wasted working toward my own demise. Even when Henry was with me during these delusions, the wretch remained insensible to him. Sometimes, I truly felt as though nobody would be capable of seeing the creature but me, as though it only existed inside my troubled mind, to punish me for daring to dream of the feats science could accomplish.

But then again, if the wretch were wholly imaginary, it would also mean I had hallucinated those many months of hard work and toil, though nothing about my studies felt more real to me than that singular project. The reality was, then, that the wretch was out there and I was helpless to do anything but wait in paranoid silence for its reappearance. The best I could hope for was that it had perished in the cold soon after its creation. Maybe it had fallen in a river and drowned or been mistaken for a bear and shot in the woods. Surely no human-being could have interacted with it and not perceived it as a threat to be eliminated. If only I had possessed more mastery over my emotions and might have killed it myself that horrid night.


	2. "Reunion"

I was jolted out of my reverie by a final lurch as our conveyance came to a stop just outside the gates of my family's manor. I peaked out the window and saw its familiar shape rising in the distance, the roof glowing near-gold in the midday sun.

Henry disembarked first. He offered me a steady hand as I climbed out, and I let my fingers dwell atop his for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. Especially as of late, I found such casual touches reassuring: a foot discovered under the table, a playful bump of the shoulder. Much to my delight, Henry was always one to indulge me. As I stepped down from the carriage now, he pressed my fingers gently and smiled at me. The warmth in that smile melted away any remaining nerves I had about returning home.

Filled with a new strength, I pulled away from my friend and went to fetch our bags. Henry followed and quickly took the heaviest, and although he did not say as much, I knew he was still worried I would over-exert myself. Leave it to Henry to dote on me over a year after the commencement of my illness. However, I supposed he would always be one to look out for me, and I him. 

A suitcase in each hand, I paused to draw in a deep breath. With it, I took in the familiar scent of Geneva, the air crisp with pine needles and lake water. I looked to Henry. 

"I'm ready," I told him.

He nodded, and I was sure he understood my desire to appear strong in front of my beloved family. There was only so much soothing that could be achieved through letters, and I needed this opportunity to convince them of my health, never mind the fact I was still uncertain about it myself. 

As we made our way up the walk, weighed down with luggage, the front door was abruptly flung wide open, and two figures dashed out. I recognized them at once. One was my cousin Elizabeth and the other, her closest friend Justine. Both had been taken in by my family in their youth, due to complications at home, and I supposed they had bonded over their shared circumstance. They certainly seemed much closer than last I had seen them, rushing out to greet us as though they were a single unit. Henry and I set down our bags in preparation for their arrival.

They cried out our names joyfully and threw their arms around each of us in turn. Justine went first to Henry, and Elizabeth to me. The former giggled like a child, and the latter granted us both a chaste peck on the cheek. The joy of holding them left me lightheaded. In my darkest moments, I had feared I would never see either again, let alone hug them, and several times I had dreamt they both lay dead at my feet. It was because of this that I held them all the more tightly and returned their greetings as enthusiastically as I could.

However, the festive mood dampened as soon as Justine pulled back from hugging me. Although her eyes were sparkling, I thought I detected something dark as well, as though there were something important she was not saying. My stomach lurched unsteadily at the thought that something was wrong.

My ominous suspicions were confirmed when Justine took a couple small steps backward and said, “There’s something you need to know about before you settle in to the house. But you have to promise not to be mad. Okay?”

“Mad?” asked Henry, setting Elizabeth down after having turned their hug into a giddy twirl. He seemed just as confused as I was, though slightly more taken aback. Likely, he had not had nightmares back in Ingolstadt of all that could go wrong on this trip. He frowned. “Why would we be mad?”

“Do you promise?” Justine asked, refusing to elaborate. Elizabeth had gone to stand beside her, and with a steady hand on the small of her back and a slight incline of her chin, she indicated her full support of Justine’s position.

Henry chanced a curious look at me, and I shrugged, as if to say I knew no more than him.

“Don't tell me Father adopted another stray,” I teased, trying to keep my fear at bay through sarcasm. My comment was in reference to my father's hobby of taking in stray cats and the like. For most of my childhood, there had been at least four cats living with us at any given time. Although I would never admit it, I actually enjoyed having the little creatures around, lounging about the house and nosing through my clothes.

"I suppose you could put it that way," said Justine coyly, looking meaningfully at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth winked knowingly, then turned back to Henry and me. “Like Justine said, if you two promise to hold your tempers, then you can come in and see for yourselves. It's probably easier to show you first than to tell you the whole story at once. Nevertheless, some background information will be necessary."

I was seized with a sudden, irrational fear and could not refrain from asking, "Nobody's dead, are they?"

"Oh, goodness me, no!" Elizabeth hastily replied. "I promise you, though I fear you may reproach us, this is nothing so dreadful."

The next moment, I felt Henry's sun-warmed hand on my shoulder and noticed I had been trembling. I placed my hand atop his and took a few deep breaths to steady myself, while my companion took over speaking for us.

"I'll admit, Elizabeth, your words make me nervous. Has something changed so drastically since we've been gone? By all means, take us inside, and we will listen to whatever you have to say and see whatever you have to show us. The sooner we know there's nothing to fear, the better." He pressed my shoulder lightly.

Elizabeth nodded. "Of course," she agreed, and if she noticed anything unusually intimate about my interactions with Henry, she made no comment.

Beside her, Justine stood up taller and cleared her throat, assuming the role of our guide. "This way, if you please," she said, giving a brief curtsy before leading the way into the house. She was followed by Elizabeth, me, and finally Henry, who was the only one with enough insight to remember our luggage lying on the walkway.

Henry shut the door behind us, and I had to blink rapidly several times before my eyes adjusted to the darkness within.


	3. "Within the Walls"

It felt good to be home again, almost as though I could pretend the past six years had never happened. Most everything was exactly as I remembered it: The air still smelled vaguely of dust and cedar-wood, and the hallway floor creaked slightly in all the same places. Yet there remained the mystery of what Justine and Elizabeth were not telling us, and because of this, I could not fully relax. 

We entered the parlor, and Justine encouraged us to have a seat. Henry and I looked around curiously but could spot nothing amiss in this room either. In fact, the house was noticeably silent. 

“Our father is out on a hike with the kids today,” Elizabeth explained. “He wanted to be here when you got back, of course, as did Ernest and William, but I suggested we shouldn’t overwhelm you all at once. They should be back just before nightfall.”

I nodded and settled myself onto the sofa, tucking my legs underneath me and immediately pulling a pillow onto my lap to fidget with. Henry sat down beside me much more conventionally, hands folded politely in his lap and looking attentively forward at Justine and Elizabeth.

“Okay, so!” began Justine, clapping her hands together. “Here's the basic story: Someone's been staying with us for the past month or so. Victor, you know him, but only sort of. You didn't know each other for very long, and what you saw of the other left a bad impression on either end." Justine cut me off before I could ask her the identity of this person. "And no, Victor, I will not say who he is just yet. But you need to keep an open mind, okay? You too, Henry. He really isn't as bad as you remember, and we so desperately want you all to get along. I'll go fetch him now, so just stay right there, okay? And please, be on your best behavior. I've already promised him you'll be civil. Elizabeth, entertain them, will you, love?” Without waiting for a confirmation, Justine dashed back the way we had come, and I heard the distinct tread of her slippered feet bound up the staircase. 

Blushing, Elizabeth tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear then turned back to Henry and me. She had taken a seat in a chair directly across from us and looked the very image of domestic beauty, her hair arranged in simple pins and her skirts neatly pressed. “While Justine is getting our guest, there are some questions I'd like to ask you both. I hope you won't begrudge me too much if I change the subject. It's been so long since we've spoken in person, and I truly don't want our unexpected guest to be our only topic of conversation." She shifted slightly in her seat. "So, Henry," she began. "How do you like your studies at Ingolstadt so far?”

Henry cleared his throat, and I felt my stomach sink with guilt, as though a heavy rock had been placed in it. Technically, Henry hadn’t started classes yet, because he’d been so busy taking care of me. Of course, he attended the odd lecture here and there, but he wasn’t a full-time student, like he had intended, even though over a year had passed since he left Geneva. 

“It’s great,” he replied, the lie slipping off his tongue as sweet as honey. I almost believed him myself. “I've been taking my time settling in, getting to know the people there, exploring the libraries, and whatnot. But I’m looking forward to taking language classes, soon. I've already started studying in my spare time, and the professors all seem very kind.”

I snorted a little despite myself, thinking of Monsieur Krempe. Henry had only met him once, and I didn't think the professor's true colors had shown then — either that or Henry was too kind to think ill of an instructor. It was unlikely their paths would cross again, for Henry was not interested in the natural sciences like I was — or had been, I reminded myself sternly. 

Elizabeth either didn’t catch my small laugh or she didn’t pay it any mind. She said, “That’s wonderful, Henry! Honestly, I was so happy when I found out your father had changed his mind about university schooling.” Her eyes slid to mine. “And I’m very glad Victor isn’t there alone anymore. I know it’s a tad motherly of me to say, but I really do worry when one of the family goes off alone. Especially you, Victor.” She stared at me fixedly and then asked, “How are you?” It was not the casual question I was used to people asking me on the street. Every word was weighed down with meaning, and her eyes too looked heavy with concern for me.

I swallowed. Despite my brief flash of humor at the thought of Henry commending Monsieur Krempe, I was still off-balance from Justine's sudden announcement and kept glancing anxiously toward the doorway. However, Elizabeth was worth nothing less than my full attention, and I tried with all my willpower to give it to her. “I’m doing better,” I said truthfully. “It's like you said, having a friend close by works wonders.” I glanced at Henry and smiled. I felt as though I could never thank him enough for all the hours he devoted to me. Even if I spent every minute of the rest of my life expressing my gratitude, surely it would not be sufficient to repay all that he had done for me. I directed my next words to him. “I truly am sorry. I know it must be rotten work." 

Henry didn’t break eye contact with me as he said decisively, “Not at all. I’m grateful for every moment spent in your company. And let me remind you that the only thing I ask in return is that you recover smoothly and work to the best of your ability to dispel this dark cloud that hangs over your head. It would lift all our spirits to see you enjoy life again.” 

Elizabeth nodded. “I agree with Henry completely. We’ll have to make up for lost time, of course. This summer, we’ll go on all your favorite walks, and I can tell you the most wonderful stories from when you were away." A shadow passed across her face, and her easy-going smile faltered. "You know, it's strange. It feels as though everything and nothing is different, all at the same time. I can't quite explain it, but. . . ” She paused at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Justine was returning, and by the heavy tread of footsteps, I gathered she was not alone. Elizabeth made a noble effort to keep our attention. “But never mind all that. Like I was saying," she continued hastily, reverting back to her usual humor, "when our father and brothers come back, I’ll make sure we prepare the best meal you’ve had in ages. It will be — ”

Forgetting propriety, I cried out and leapt to my feet in the middle of Elizabeth’s sentence. My blood turned cold as ice, and my lungs were incapable of taking in air. This sensation of panic was eerily familiar, and I knew I had felt such horror once before, on a dreary night two Novembers past. Before me stood Justine, who had just entered the room, and looming beside her like a distorted shadow was my worst nightmare.


	4. "The Fated Encounter"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful, folks, this is the longest chapter yet!

“Justine!” I yelled, planting myself firmly between the creature and Henry. My legs felt about as stable as thin strips of paper, but the desire to block Henry's line of sight was overpowering. “What are you doing?" I demanded. "That thing’s dangerous! Get behind me, now!" I whirled on my cousin. "Elizabeth, you, too!” 

Although I felt nauseated and sick to my stomach, I forced my gaze back to the wretch. It was just as hideous as I remembered it, tissue-paper skin pulled tight over a ghastly frame, every muscle, tendon, and vein discernible beneath. Nothing was new, except. . . I squinted. Was its hair done up in plaits with. . . a flower crown? The kind my youngest brother was so fond of making, according to Elizabeth? 

My cousin seized upon my moment of hesitation and said, “Victor, it’s alright.” She was on her feet now too, holding out her hands placatingly. “We trust him. He’s our friend.”

I blinked several times, unable to comprehend her words. Desperately looking from her face to Justine’s and back again, I searched for a hint that might tell me if they were joking or if they had completely lost their wits. “You can’t possibly mean — ” I spluttered. 

“Yes,” affirmed Justine. She was holding one of the creature’s gnarled hands in her own, and the size difference was so great, she looked like its doll in comparison. “This is Milton, and you'd better be nice to him. He’s been waiting a long time to meet you.”

“Meet me?” I echoed. “Wha — You — That’s preposterous! That. . . that THING can’t want anything!” A second later, I registered something else she had said, and my eyes narrowed. “Wait, do you mean to tell me you've given it a name? A name, for Heaven's sake?” 

“We didn’t give him anything," she declared. "He chose it all on his own,” She looked up and beamed at the horrible fiend like a proud mother. Then, to my utter horror, it beamed back, peeling back its dark lips to reveal unsettlingly white teeth. 

I wanted to throw up, so terrible was the sight. Instead, I gazed in mute horror and took a fearful step back, accidentally bumping into Henry, who had left the couch and come to stand behind me. The impact startled me as though I had heard a sudden gunshot, and Henry seemed taken aback by my fear. It had been months since I'd behaved like this, since I'd been so unhinged, and perhaps my friend had thought those days were far behind us. He fumbled for my hand, as he usually did when I was panicking, but I was trembling so violently, he ending up holding my wrist more than anything. 

“Victor,” he said softly, “Victor, it's okay. I don't think he means you any harm. You're safe." It was true, the creature hadn't moved from its spot beside Justine.

I calmed down just a little at his soothing words, and Henry took the opportunity to reach for my other hand. Holding both fast, he maneuvered me so my back was to the miserable wretch and I was facing Henry straight-on. I was about to chance a frenzied glance over my shoulder, but Henry called me back with my name. 

"Victor, look at me, okay? Focus. Everything's alright. You're alright." 

"You can. . . see him?" I asked hoarsely.

Henry nodded, then paused, biting his lower lip before asking, "This is the creature you spoke of in your dreams, is it not? The one you always said was chasing after you.”

I felt hot tears pricking at the backs of my eyes, and I quickly shut them in an effort to conceal my emotions. My family already knew I was an emotional wreck, but I didn't want to give the creature the idea that I was weak and could be taken advantage of. Who knew what it would do if it thought I had an easily accessible weakness. . . 

Henry continued speaking, his voice soothing and strangely hypnotic, a lighthouse leading me back in from a storm. “I'll admit, I thought the things you spoke of in your nightmares were simply brought on by lack of sleep or overexertion. I never fully believed your mind wasn’t getting the better of you when you spoke about an eight-foot-tall man you were building. But if this is him, then it all makes sense now: the night terrors, the sleep-talking, the notes in your laboratory.”

I stiffened and pulled out of Henry's grasp, despite how much his presence calmed me. My voice cracked as I demanded, “You looked through my notes? Henry, you shouldn’t have — " 

He kept his hands outstretched, but I just stared at him in return, betrayed, feeling a turbulent mix of anger and embarrassment. What had he seen while going through my private journals? I shuddered to even think about what I might have written. 

“I know I shouldn't have, and I’m sorry, Victor. I promise I was only trying to tidy things up. I wanted your laboratory to be clean for when you went back to work.”

“I shall never go back to the sciences, Henry. You know that as well as I!” 

Henry's face was heart-broken as he let his hands drop slowly to his sides, and I had to fight back another sob. Was I disappointing Henry yet again after all this time, after all he'd done for me? I didn't realize he had wanted me to go back to the sciences, that he thought a return to normalcy was possible after all that I'd witnessed. After all that I'd done. 

“Victor.” Elizabeth’s voice pulled me back to the other side of the room. “Milton told us everything that happened — at least, from his point of view. He told us. . . ” She hesitated, then clarified, ". . . how you created him.”

“And then abandoned him!” shouted Justine.

I jolted a little, surprised by the passion in her voice and the presence of tears glistening in her eyes. Elizabeth seemed shocked too, and a tenderness that I had never seen before filled her eyes. It was unlike the familial love with which she gazed at me and my brothers. This was not necessarily stronger than that, but it was somehow achingly familiar. 

Justine sniffled and wiped a hand across her face. “It’s just not right,” she murmured, lowering her voice. “No one should ever feel like their only family doesn’t want them. . . “

“Oh, Justine,” cooed Elizabeth, and she hurried to her friend’s side to soothe her. 

Justine let go of the wretch's hand and fell into Elizabeth's arms, burying her face in my cousin's neck while Elizabeth placed several kisses into her frizzy hair. 

A memory scratched at the back of my mind. I dimly remembered a letter Elizabeth had sent me once, explaining Justine's family situation. She had been the favorite child of her father, which somehow incurred the wrath of her jealous mother. When her father passed away, her mother treated her like she was a fiend directly responsible for bringing such misery into their family. Justine had come to live with us around that time, and although she and I were on good terms, she was always closest with Elizabeth, and they would stay up together giggling late into the night. 

In my absence at Ingolstadt, Elizabeth had written to me that Justine had received word from her mother once again. All her siblings were dead now, and her mother was supposedly repentant and wanted to make amends with her only remaining child. Justine had felt she had no choice and returned home for her mother's final days. Her mother alternately condemned Justine's existence and begged for her forgiveness. Eventually, she too passed away, and Justine returned to live with us. Even though that dark chapter of life was well behind her, how could such an experience not linger in her heart forever? It was truly a terrible thing her mother had done, and the fact that Justine was likening this history to my treatment of the wretch horrified me. I told myself it was nothing like Justine, that it was nowhere near human. Yet something inside me had started to doubt. . . 

This minute hesitation didn't last long, however, for the very next moment, the creature reached down to Justine. Fearing it was about to smother her, I stepped forward to throw myself between them. However, Henry’s hand shot out and held me fast. I looked at him in disbelief, unable to imagine he would ever turn against me. He didn't let go of me but instead inclined his head toward Justine. When I looked back, I realized I had misinterpreted the scene. The wretch hadn’t moved to attack Justine at all. It had simply used one great, big hand to ruffle her hair. Most confounding of all, Justine was smiling up at it through her tears. Then, she turned back to me.

“So you see, Victor,” she pressed on. “He deserves your kindness. If you're not willing to be nice to him, then the very least you can do is promise you won't be mean. And if. . . “ Her voice trembled. “. . . and if you don’t want him in the house, then that’s just too bad for you, because we all love having him here, and your opinions won't sway us.”

"We all?" I echoed, the floorboards lurching unsteadily beneath my feet. "Do you mean, Father, William, and Ernest know about him, too?" I felt as though my entire world were re-orienting itself.

“That’s right,” Elizabeth replied solemnly. “Milton arrived here a few weeks ago and was kind enough to share his tale with us all. He spoke of you at the beginning, Victor, but he's been alone for so long. There is much you don't know about him. After hearing him out, we happily accepted him into the family. He has no one else in the world to take responsibility for him but us. And there's more than enough space here." She gestured vaguely to indicate our house. "Of course, we are well aware that there are two sides to every story, and we would be more than willing to hear your version of events, if you wish to tell it. And if it makes you more comfortable, we can arrange things so you have to see Milton as little as possible. But, my dear Victor, please try to keep an open mind. I think confronting this situation head-on will prove beneficial, for the timing of events has made it seem that Milton’s creation was the cause of your illness. Am I mistaken in assuming that?”

I bit my lower lip. “No, that’s correct. I. . . I ran into Henry the day after. . . “ I gestured vaguely at my unfortunate creation. “I haven’t seen it since.”

“Him,” Justine corrected me pointedly. “Not it.”

“Him. . . “ I mumbled the correction into my shirt collar. 

“Victor, let's sit back down, okay?” Henry suggested, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "Everything's going to be fine."

I hesitated a moment before complying. At my assent, Henry helped me back down onto the couch, while Elizabeth passed him a blanket, which he carefully wrapped around me. With one shaky hand, I held it fast beneath my neck, like a cloak, and stared down at the floor, unseeing. Henry sat right beside me, lacing and unlacing his fingers anxiously. I briefly considered laying across his lap like a cat, but I found myself incapable of so much motion. Instead, I closed my eyes and leaned into him slightly, overwhelmed by all I was experiencing. I pressed the fingers of my free hand into my eyes and moaned softly. It seemed my family members were all waiting for me to say something. Scattered though my thoughts were, I found it in myself to speak, though I sounded like a petulant child, even to my own ears. 

“I don’t understand,” I lamented. “This creature has been the sole object of my nightmares for over a year. He is the bane of my very existence. I spend months in my sick bed trying to forget about him, but as soon as I return to my beloved family, I find they have accepted him with open arms. How can this be? Am I dreaming? Is he not terrible to behold? Is his very existence not entirely disturbing and unnatural? Why do you humor him so?”

“We’re not humoring him, Victor,” Justice protested. “We’re showing him kindness. It's a decision we make every day, and it's your job to make that choice, too.”

"Justine's right," Elizabeth added. “While it’s easy to be cruel and shut people out, it’s far more difficult to listen to them and see things from their point of view. But just because it is hard to be kind at times doesn’t mean it’s impossible, and oftentimes it’s the right thing to do." Elizabeth knelt before me and grasped one hand, which she pressed pleadingly. "My dear Victor, I understand why you were afraid of Milton and why your first impulse was to run away from what you had done. But now you have the chance to change your rash decision. You can choose kindness, like we have, and then perhaps you'll find you've nothing left to fear.”

Her words were beautiful and intoxicating, but my months of anxiety could not be washed away so quickly. I shook my head and protested, “Elizabeth, can’t you see? He’s hideous!” Like a distressed child, I pulled my hand out of her grasp and pointed one finger accusatorily at the wretch.

Justine surprised me yet again by boldly demanding, “And whose fault is that?” 

For several moments, I was unable to respond, so shocked was I. Finally, I managed to recompose myself. “Look,” I pleaded, though even I was unsure as to whom I was addressing. “None of you can understand. I tried to make him beautiful, I really did.”

However, Henry chose the same moment as me to fill the room’s insufferable silence. As I spoke, he mumbled thoughtfully, “You know, he’s not so horrible when you consider the separate pieces. In fact, he kind of looks like me.” 

I froze again, dumbfounded. Turning to my friend, I asked incredulously, “What did you just say, Henry?” However, I had heard him perfectly, and before he could reply, I yelled, “He is nothing like you!”

Henry tugged at his ear sheepishly. “I just meant. . . Sure, he may be overwhelming when taken in all at once, but. . . well, it looks like we have a similar facial structure, don’t you think? Square jaw, long nose. . . And, well, I did used to have long hair, once upon a time.”

I blinked several times in stupefaction. Was my friend seriously insinuating I had modeled that wretched beast after him, who was the most splendid of all men? 

I was about to say as much when Henry shrugged feebly. “I’m just saying,” he finished lamely.

My voice found itself again. “Don’t be silly, Henry. You two are nothing alike.” Turning back to Justine, I continued, “I should hardly think his horrid appearance is my fault. I did everything right. It wasn't until he was alive that something went wrong. What could it be but his soul that was skewed somehow? And I can't be to blame for that. He wasn't supposed to look like this. Do you know how many hours I spent laboring away over his body so as to assure he was the perfect being? And look.” I flung at a hand contemptuously. “Look what all my hard work has come to. I doubt you can even classify it as human.”

“Him,” corrected Justine again. “And so what if Milton isn’t human? He’s here, and he’s cognizant, and so his feelings matter. Maybe it's hard for you to look at him. Fine, I'll accept that. But how much harder do you think it is to actually BE him?" I wanted to interrupt, but Justine had a lot more to say. I had to wonder how long she had been holding all this in. "Also, have you noticed, Victor, that you're currently behaving less like a human than him? You are renouncing a creature you brought into this world because he is not physically appealing, and you dare to call him the monster? Honestly, where is your own humanity, your desire to help others in pain? I’ve seen you treat stray cats better than this!”

I scoffed. “You can’t seriously be comparing him to cats now, can you, Justine?” I thought that analogy was downright insulting. 

“He’s certainly kinder than most kitty-cats I’ve met,” she replied haughtily.

“Victor, Justine,” Elizabeth cut in warningly. “I beg you both to please just settle down. Take a moment and stop. Stop and breathe." She pushed to her feet and gazed back at her friend. "There,” she said as Justine closed her eyes and let out a frustrated puff of air. "That's much better." Her reproachful gaze turned to me next. “You, too, Victor,” she instructed.

Irritated, I leaned back against the sofa and crossed my arms, letting the blanket slide downward until it puddled at my sides. Unlike Justine, I couldn't find it in me to take a refreshing breath. My eardrums were throbbing, and even though no one was talking, it felt like there was too much noise in the room. Everything was too much. It had been months since my heartbeat had drowned out everything around me like this. 

Henry noticed my discomfort and reached forward to ruffle my hair. Years together had taught him that, when I was feeling overwhelmed, I often just needed something to ground me. A hug often did the trick, but such a motion would have been clumsy, seated as we were side by side.

I melted into his touch and sighed, grateful for the positive physical contact. I thanked him under my breath, and after a minute or so, I had composed myself enough to take a deep breath as Elizabeth had suggested. With my exhale, some of the fog covering my mind cleared, too. 

Keeping my eyes closed, I pressed my fingertips first to my temples and then to one another, steepling them just in front of my nose. “Let me get something straight,” I began. “Its name — his name is. . . Milton?” 

Several sounds of affirmation confirmed this.

“What,” I snorted, “like John Milton?”

“Of course,” I heard Justine say indignantly. “Paradise Lost is his favorite book.”

I laughed drily. “Of course it is! How fitting. The demon banished into Hell by God,” I mused. 

“Actually,” a new voice spoke up. “I sometimes think myself more of an Adam.” 

My heart skipped a beat and quite nearly stopped altogether. I opened my eyes and surveyed the room suspiciously. “Who said that?” I demanded.

The wretch raised one over-sized hand. “I did,” he confessed. He shifted uncomfortably and said, “I'm sorry for speaking out of turn. My friends suggested I remain silent for the duration of this conversation, but. . . “ He looked down at Justine and Elizabeth and smiled wryly. “. . . on a topic so close to my heart, I find it impossible to stay silent.” 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered, and Henry leaned closer, ready to catch me lest I should lose consciousness. I shook my head and help up a hand, as if to tell him I was fine, but I continued to feel his gaze boring into me nervously. In fact, I could feel four pairs of eyes gazing at me curiously: those of Henry, Justine, Elizabeth, and the cursed wretch. I could not bear to think of him as anything else at that moment. 

“Maybe Victor needs time to process all this,” Elizabeth suggested. 

I pressed both hands to my eyes to block her out, to block all of them out.

Then, I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Will that help you, dear, if we give you a few moments alone?”

I shook my head, more to stop her questions than anything else. In that moment, I felt unable to make a decision and was ready to shut down completely. Elizabeth must have read my silence and surmised her course of action was correct, for I heard her quietly ushering everyone out of the room the very next minute. 

When I felt Henry shift beside me on the couch, ready to stand up and follow the others, a spear of panic forked through me. I reached out blindly and grabbed hold of his sleeve, making a pathetic effort to hold him to me. Henry must have noticed my feeble attempt, for he stopped in his tracks (no thanks to my own lack of strength) and said something I could not make out, probably to Elizabeth. Then, the couch dipped beside me as Henry sat back down. I tried to tell him I was sorry, but my throat had constricted so tightly that no sound could get out. I ended up whispering a barely audible string of semi-formed apologies, my head buried in my hands. 

My murmurings were cut short a moment later as Henry wrapped an arm around me and started making soft noises to soothe me. I gradually let my hands fall limp and leaned my head against his broad shoulder. Henry pressed a single kiss to my temple before resting his head against mine, and something inside me broke. Guilt washed over me, that I was acting so terribly and being shown such kindness in return. I felt ashamed, for the first time not of the monster I had created but for the wretch I myself had become. 

I began to weep, and Henry pulled me in close, readjusting on the couch so I leaned into his chest and he could wrap both his arms around me. His heart formed a steady, thumping rhythm that contrasted with my own erratic pulse, and this by degrees calmed me. Two important thoughts swam through my mind before I sank into unconsciousness. First, I realized that the divide between human and monster wasn’t so great as I had previously imagined. Second, I more fully comprehended just how deep my family's generosity and good faith ran, like a vein of gold in a mountainside. How could I ever keep up with people who loved so openly and unabashedly? Even Henry shone so brightly in the face of adversity. . . I was on the brink of finally understanding my feelings toward him when fatigue overtook me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never completely satisfied with names people give the creature, including the one I'm using for this story. I would love to hear other people's thoughts and opinions! C: Also, if anyone's not familiar with the theory of the creature representing the physical manifestation of Victor's gay thoughts. . . hoo boy, I recommend you look into that, because it's amazing, and I low-key based a lot of this story on it. 
> 
> One last thing . .  
Elizabeth: Why don't you have some empathy, Victor, and then maybe you'll calm down?


	5. "Interlude"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added an extra chapter because there WILL be an epilogue and also it's convenient to work with smaller chapters. Thanks for sticking with this story! <3

About an hour later, Elizabeth came in with a glass of water. Henry noticed her first and gently nudged me awake. Protesting a little, I pulled myself into a sitting position and blearily rubbed at my eyes with the back of one hand. 

"Well, good morning, sunshine," laughed Elizabeth. "I honestly wasn't expecting you to take a nap, but if it makes you feel better. . . Here."

She handed me the cup of water, and I took it from her gratefully. Although I was a little disoriented, I was relieved to discover the brief rest had extinguished the worst of my anxiety. I no longer trembled, and the thought of my creation in the other room seemed less like a nightmare and more like an unsavory chore I knew I must deal with eventually. As always, the hardest part was getting started, and I knew it would be better for everyone involved if I faced it as soon as possible. 

“Only take small sips at a time, okay?" Elizabeth instructed. "Just take it slow." 

I nodded, and her face softened.

Tentatively, she asked, "How are you feeling, Victor?” 

“Better,” I said, though my voice was still raspier than normal, probably due to having cried so much earlier. 

I glanced at Henry, who was sitting at my side and gazing at me with a mixture of fondness and worry. I reached for his hand reassuringly and smiled as best I could. However, it must not have been very convincing, for one of his eyebrows quirked up and he had to stifle a small laugh. 

"What?" I asked him.

"Nothing, nothing," he said dismissively. "I'm still exhausted after the trek here, so everything is funnier than it should be. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just, your hair is so messy, it's practically a bird's nest at this point, and when you tried to smile, I just. . . " I looked up self-consciously and raised a hand to smooth it down, but Henry leaned forward and said, "Here, let me." 

Bowing forward, I let Henry reorient the part in my hair and organize the tangled clumps into a semblance of order. When he was finished, it still swept a little messily across my forehead — I should've gotten it trimmed months ago — but Henry insisted it was much neater now. 

Elizabeth obviously disagreed, because she said, "Wait, just one more thing," and she leaned forward to readjust my hair, as well. 

"You guys," I protested, batting lightly at her hand. "I'm fine!"

They continued to tease me anyway, and I felt my cheeks grow warm, embarrassed that I was being fawned over despite my unwarranted cruelty toward the creature earlier — toward Milton, I amended, trying to get used to the name. It was still hard for me to believe that my family could act so calmly, as though nothing had happened, despite knowing all that I’d done at Ingolstadt and everything I'd failed to do since. 

“Here, I’ll take that,” Elizabeth said, after their laughter had died down and I had drained the cup. She held out her hand, and I passed the empty water glass to her. I thanked her, and she asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

I paused, suddenly having second thoughts about whether I really wanted to see Milton again, to talk to him face-to-face. But I quickly shook those fears away and told myself this was the least I could do after bringing him into the world and immediately abandoning him for over a year. It was hard to believe it had been that long since my experiment. I still felt like the same frightened college student, on the verge of a mental breakdown. Would I ever grow out of that person? I desperately hoped so.

“There is one thing,” I told her, rubbing the corners of the blanket between my fingers. Henry had pulled it over me after I had fallen asleep, but it was once again in a heap at my side. 

Elizabeth looked at me attentively, and I felt my breath catch in my throat as I steeled myself to speak.

“Could you,” I began, then swallowed and tried to begin again. “Could you bring. . . Milton in here? I’d like to talk to him. Alone.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she said, “Of course.” Then, “My dear, are you sure you don’t want anyone else in here with you? I really wouldn’t mind staying. It would be no problem.” 

I shook my head. “I think I owe him the opportunity to speak his mind to me without an audience.” 

Although I didn’t say as much, I also thought I should like to speak without being self-conscious of what my family would think. Of course, I would keep their thoughts in mind always. If I messed up with the creature’s pronouns, I would hear Justine chiding me, and if I let my anger get the better of me, I would hear Elizabeth’s gentle approbation. I also began to think about what Henry do if he were in my situation — although I knew he was too kind to have let things escalate this far. I would hate for him to think of me as cruel or dismissive, and I knew he would treat the creature with kindness, regardless of his appearance. In short, I wanted to make my family proud, yet I felt this was a trial I had to go through alone. Only without them in the room giving me meaningful looks could I ensure that I was genuinely living up to their expectations and being kind for goodness' sake alone. 

Elizabeth nodded and promised she would fetch Milton at once. 

“Oh, but, Victor,” she said, pausing mid-step through the doorway. “I recommend you switch seats now. That sofa you’re sitting on is, well. . . it’s the only one Milton fits on.”

I immediately stood up and re-examined the room, while Elizabeth closed the door behind her with a soft click. There was the sofa Henry and I had been using, as well as two chairs facing it. I elected to take the chair Elizabeth had been sitting on earlier. It was the closest seat to the door, which would be useful if I had another anxiety attack and felt the need to leave suddenly. I sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen, but knowing I had a possible out calmed my nerves a little. 

Henry got to his feet as well and began folding up the blanket and tidying up the pillows we had knocked askew. 

“May I ask you something?” he asked as he worked.

I nodded, though his back was to me. “Anything.”

“Why make him eight feet tall?”

At first, I bristled at his question, a little offended. Yet when he turned around to face me, I noticed he was smiling.

“I mean, it’s a little much, don’t you think?” he pressed. "And more than a little intimidating." 

"It was supposed to make the pieces easier to work with,” I explained, though suddenly, my logic didn't seem so airtight. “Matching muscles together, stitching them up. . . I wouldn’t have to squint as much.”

Henry hummed and said, "Okay, that makes sense. But, uh. . . if vision was the problem, then don’t you think it would have been easier to just invest in a pair of reading glasses or something?”

“Excuse me?” I held a hand to my chest in a show of exaggerated affront. “You dare to question my scientific authority?”

“I’m just saying, you’d look brilliant with glasses. It would add a sort of devilish charm to your already rustic aesthetic. And you always stay up so late into the night reading, which can't be easy in the dim lighting." 

I rolled my eyes, even as my cheeks grew warm. Had Henry seriously described my aesthetic as rustic? “We can discuss this later, Henry," I told him firmly.

He laughed then assured me, “I’m only teasing." After he finished fixing the couch, he stood awkwardly for a few moments and then asked, "You’re certain you don’t want me to stay?”

I nodded, though my entire body was thrumming with nerves already.

“Okay, then. . . I’ll be in the other room, just a shout away if you need anything.”

On his way to the door, he stopped by my chair and bent down to kiss the top of my head. I surprised him my tilting my face up, and smiling, he gave me a soft peck on the lips instead. 

“Thank you, Henry,” I told him. Might as well start in on that lifetime of gratitude now. “I’ll see you soon,” I promised him.

With that, he was gone. I heard some shuffling in the hallway and a couple murmured apologies, as though two people had nearly collided. Then, within seconds, the door was creaking open once again to admit my creation.


	6. "Reconciliation"

As the creature lumbered into the room, I took a deep breath to steady myself and held back the rude epithets that instinctively rose like bile to my tongue. It would take some work to break this horrible habit and stop flinching whenever I beheld the creature, but I was determined to be on my best behavior. After all, my nightmares concerning him were all in my head. He had done nothing to wrong me, and if I were upset with him for existing, then that merely circled back to me being upset with myself, for I was the one who had set his life into motion. 

The creature — Milton, I tried — took a seat on the sofa where Henry and I had been minutes before. The support beams groaned uncertainly beneath his weight, but the structure held. 

“Victor,” he said by way of greeting, his voice rumbling deep in his throat. 

I swallowed. “Milton.” My fingers twitched and closed on empty air. I realized with a dull pang that I hadn’t brought anything from the sofa to fidget with. I swallowed again and told myself I would be fine. 

I jumped and made a lame squeaking sound as a pillow sailed straight onto my lap. I fumbled and caught it, then looked up at the creature with wide eyes.

His black lip twitched. “I saw you holding it earlier, and you looked a little lost without it,” he admitted.

I nodded and managed a weak thanks. I held the pillow close to my chest and focused on keeping my breathing stable.

“You don’t have to look at me, if it’s too hard,” Milton told me. “I know full well how hideous I am.”

I almost opened my mouth to protest, as was my habit whenever someone made a self-deprecating comment. But I agreed with him, horrible as it was to say. I remained silent. So did he. 

After a minute spent gathering my thoughts, I chanced a peek at Milton. He was gazing steadily out the window with his dull yellow eyes, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt. At least I knew we had something in common, then. Perhaps he had been dreading this confrontation as much as I had. 

“Um,” I began, and he immediately turned his attention on me. I repressed a shiver. “Elizabeth mentioned that you had a story to tell." Just saying her name helped steady me. "What I mean is, she said that you told the rest of the family what happened to you, directly after you were brought into this world." I gulped, then amended, "After I brought you into this world." I found I couldn’t maintain eye contact with him for long, so I pretended to find a speck of dust on the floor uniquely interesting. "And. . . Well, I want to hear your side of things. That is, if you’re interested in telling me. I'd like to listen.” My speech felt clumsy and forced, but at least I had gotten through it.

Milton didn’t seem to notice or mind. Something in his chest rumbled approvingly, and he replied, “Of course. Shall I begin now?” I nodded quickly, and he said, "Very well, then." 

Clearing his throat, he began his tale, much as I imagined he had with my family a few weeks earlier. He recounted to me a series of events, the beginning of which I knew all too well. The first thing he remembered was waking up in a strange room — my laboratory — with no one in sight. He took several moments to collect his bearings and then started exploring, unsure where to go or what to do. It took him a long time to get used to his limbs and to effectively search the place. He said he felt clumsy and sluggish in his own body. Eventually, he stumbled into my bedroom, where he found me asleep in my bed. He pushed the curtains aside and reached out to me — not to attack, he insisted, but to ask for help.

“I didn’t know how to speak then,” he explained. “All I knew was that I was lost and scared.”

But I hadn’t known that at the time, so I had cried and rushed out of the apartment, leaving the creature, only hours old, to fend for itself. Milton explained how he tried to follow me but quickly got lost. It was still early in the morning, so hardly anyone was about. Hunger drove him to the woods that surrounded the university, and he told me about his subsequent months spent in the wilderness, moving wherever fruits and berries were populous.

“You’re a vegetarian?” I interrupted to ask, finding the thought silly for its unexpectedness.

Milton shrugged. “I’ve eaten meat since. It’s not my favorite. But that was only when your family prepared it, and it felt rude to refuse a warm meal.”

He continued, moving into the stories that involved his rare interactions with humans. They all had one thing in common: Whenever they saw Milton, they panicked. Either they fled, as I had, or they attacked him. He soon learned to avoid them whenever possible. 

But all that changed when he found a secluded house in the mountains and began observing the life of a small family by the name of De Lacey. He told me how much he had grown to love them, the two children and their father, and how they had been responsible for teaching him language, regardless of whether that was their intention.

“That’s where I found my first copy of Paradise Lost,” he added. “It might sound foolish of me to say, but I think that book saved me. It gave me hope when I might have had none.”

I nodded, understanding him more than ever, for I knew firsthand the restorative properties of literature. I thought back fondly on all the times when Henry had recited my favorite poems simply to coax a smile or a laugh out of me. Just as saying Elizabeth's name had calmed me earlier, thinking about Henry was soothing. I squeezed the pillow I was holding in lieu of his hand. 

Milton went on to tell me about the time he revealed himself to the De Lacey family and how it had gone horribly wrong. It was then that he realized he could never see those he loved again, and he was back to feeling completely abandoned and alone in the world. 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced unrequited love like that,” he mused. “Judging by the kindness of your family, I’d wager not. But it’s the most terrible feeling in the world, knowing you’re one step away from being disowned by people whose love is thinner than ice.”

A wave of sadness coursed through me at the creature’s words. It was true, I’d never been abandoned like him. Even in my darkest hours, my family was always there for me: a kind letter from my father and siblings, a warm hug from Henry. Of course, I worried about what they might think of me if they knew every thought that raced through my head. But had I ever really considered that I might be banished completely from their lives for it? 

It was directly after the De Lacey family drove him away that Milton decided to search for me in Geneva. It was also the point at which he reached peak disillusionment with humanity.

“I wondered what the point of being kind was," he told me, "if all I would ever get in return was pain. It was at that time I ran into your youngest brother, William.” He wrapped his arms around himself protectively, and I recognized the gesture as a parallel to my own posture. Were the creature and I really so similar? “I’m ashamed to admit," Milton went on, "that I considered killing him, your brother. I was so alone and just wanted a friend, but he was just as cruel as all the other humans I’d met, telling me I frightened him and looked like a monster. Then, as soon as he said his name was Frankenstein, I. . . " He shuddered. "Suffice it to say, I don’t know what I would have done if Justine hadn’t arrived at precisely that moment. She had been looking for William for hours, apparently, and she said so had the entire family. When she saw me, she wasn’t afraid. She asked me if I needed any help. When William told her I looked frightening, she chastised him. She. . . “ He let out a broken laugh. “Well, we realized she was terribly near-sighted that day, and most likely, that’s why I didn’t drive her away like I did everyone else.” He sighed. “But nearsightedness notwithstanding, she invited me back to the house for a warm meal. When Elizabeth saw me, she was concerned, naturally. But by then, I had already told Justine fragments of my story, and due to its similarity to hers, she was determined that I spend the night, no matter how gruesome Elizabeth said I looked. It wasn’t until the next morning, when your family was more at ease, that I told them my full story. At first, they seemed reluctant to believe it. They didn’t think you would do something like this.” Milton gestured down at himself with distaste. “But it made too much sense. Not only did it explain your prolonged absence at Ingolstadt, but it accounted for your sudden lack of letters home and the subtle gaps in Henry's story about the nature of your illness. "They asked me if I wanted to meet you and if that was why I had come to Geneva. At the time, I wasn't sure. For so long, I had thought of you as a remote and cruel god. To know you were real was one thing, and to know I had the opportunity to meet you, and maybe to speak with you, was quite another. I thought about it for a few days, and then I realized the only way for me to get closure was a meeting like this. And I thought maybe. . . " He hesitated. "Maybe you needed the same thing. "I know I look horrifying, and it's obvious that you're sorry you created me, but. . . I don't need your approval to exist in this world. Even if you brought me into it, I don't owe you anything. Justine's story taught me that. When I think of the way her mother treated her, as if. . . " He shook his head. "Anyway. . . If your family has taught me one thing, it's that violence and cruelty are never the answers, so I will not threaten you, no matter what you say or do to me. But if you want us to have a good rapport, I will gladly oblige you and do my best to show you whatever kindness I can. If I ever owe you anything, it'll be for your actions now, for accepting me into your family as I am. Justine said I can stay here no matter what you think of me, but I don't think that would feel right. So. . . it's your call, Victor. Send me away now, if you feel you must. Otherwise, I would be grateful to make amends with you."

I was silent as I let his words sink in. Was he seriously telling me it was my choice to let him live here, regardless of what Justine had said to the contrary? What would happen if I refused him? Likely, he would wander through the wilderness again, alone and friendless. Nobody else would take him in, and he would reconsider turning to anger and hatred. It was all about nurture, I realized. This was a creature capable of great cruelty as well as great kindness — just like me, or any other human. In just the same way as Henry had pulled me back from an abyss that dreary morning in November, reminding me of my family and all those who cared about me, I could help stand between Milton and the pain existence always brought to those living it. I thought of all the hardships I had endured throughout my life: Elizabeth's near-fatal illness, the death of my mother, the constant struggle to maintain my mental health. If I had not had people there to support me along the way, what would have become of me? I needed to be a person to Milton like Henry was to me, I decided. Maybe not as a parent — I was not ready for such a responsibility, and he hardly felt like a child, in spite of his age — but as a friend. Finally, I trusted my thoughts enough to speak.

"I'm sorry to hear how difficult your life has been, up until now," I told him. "And I know I'm largely to blame for most of it. I wasn't there for you when you needed me most, back in Ingolstadt. I could try to excuse myself for my lapse in judgment, but that wouldn't change anything. The only thing I can do is choose to help you now. So. . . I would prefer that you stay here in Geneva with the rest of my family. They can make up for whatever kindness I lack, and I ask for you to be patient with me as I work on my own behavior. Please understand that any negative feelings I have are caused by me and not by you. This is something I'm only gradually coming to terms with myself. I'm not upset with you for existing; I'm upset with how blinded I was in my pursuit of the sciences. I don't wish your existence away; I just wish I didn't shut my family out so much and had instead listened to reason and compassion. I'm. . . I'm horrified by how I reacted when faced with the direct results of my experiment. . . when faced with you. . . " I hung my head in my hands, ashamed. "I'm just. . . I'm truly sorry, Milton. I've been so terrible to you, and there's no justification for that."

I started weeping, and I hated myself for that, too. I buried my face in my pillow, not caring that I couldn't watch Milton that way. I may not have trusted him completely yet, but I felt I knew enough about him to know I was safe in that moment. 

As my tears subsided, I waited anxiously for him to say something in response. However, minutes passed and the room remained silent. Sniffling, I chanced a glance at him and saw that he, too, was crying, though his tears streaked silently down his face. He was wiping at his eyes with one gigantic hand, and the plaits in his hair were starting to come undone. I had a strange sensation at that moment. Part of me was horrified by Milton's physiognomy, repulsed even. But another part of me wanted to stand up and give him a hug. It was the same reaction I had felt when, years ago, Ernest had fallen out of a tree and scraped both his hands and knees. Ernest tried to pretend the pain didn't bother him, but it hurt me to see him in such a state anyway, and it was all I could do not to coddle him all the way back to the house.

So it was with Milton now, except I stayed in my seat and only thought about wrapping my arms around him. Maybe in the future, I could build up to that sort of thing and feel more physically at ease around him. Yet for the time-being, I thought it safest to stick with words. So, I spoke to him instead.

"Are you. . . okay?" I asked softly.

He sniffed and nodded. "I. . . wasn't expecting this sort of response from you," he admitted. "In all my dreams, you shun me and turn away."

I shivered. So, he had nightmares about me, too. . . For over a year, I had imagined Milton showing up out of nowhere and attacking those I loved and held most dear. Perhaps at the same time, he had envisioned me similarly ruining his life, maybe by turning him out into the cold again and abusing him in other ways. I understood that my assumptions about him were wrong. Now it was my turn to show him that his ideas of me were equally untrue — and then I had to ensure that that kinder Victor stayed a reality. I could never allow a relapse into my crueler self.

"I won't," I promised him. "I won't drive you away. Not anymore." 

Our eyes met then, and he smiled at me. For the first time, I felt the warmth of his expression, radiating outward despite the dullness of his watery eyes. His soul wasn't tainted after all, as I had feared when I first saw him. In fact, even though I had given him a monstrous form, his mind shone brightly through it, like golden light spilling out of a window and into the dark. We would learn how to live together, him and I, and it would be nowhere near as difficult as I thought. With time, I knew, we might even become good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL:DR: Justine swoops in and unknowingly saves Victor's life from falling to pieces in five seconds flat, proving that sometimes having perfect vision is worse.


	7. "Epilogue"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is gonna switch POV a little suddenly, but it's because y'all NEED to be tuned in to just how gay Walton is. Victor is too oblivious to do him justice.

A couple years later, a dejected sailor by the name of Robert Walton passed through Geneva. Disappointed by his failed Arctic expedition, he took a rather complex and circuitous route back home to England, reluctant to come back to his beloved sister Margaret without having accomplished his goals. Not only had he failed to make any scientific breakthroughs, but not one of the connections he had made aboard his ship had been lasting. Even his closest friendships had dissolved immediately upon disembarking. 

So it was that Robert traveled, companionless, throughout the countryside, and it was only by sheer luck that he met anyone from the Frankenstein family at all. But, as it was, he happened to pause his ramblings to admire the gorgeous view of a lake sprawling beneath him at the same time that Victor was returning from his daily hike. His cheeks bright with color and a thin sheen of sweat glossing over his forehead, Robert felt his heart lurch when he first saw Victor. There was something painstakingly familiar about him, though Robert was certain this was their first meeting.

“Good morning,” Victor called to him and waved. Robert waved back, and no sooner had he signalled in greeting than Victor began crunching through the gravel towards him. A few moments later, he stood at Robert's side, hands on his hips, gazing down at the landscape. His dark hair rippled like feathered water in the slight breeze. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he breathed.

Robert gulped and hastily returned his attention to the lake. “Yes,” he agreed.

They stood in silence for several minutes, both men preoccupied with catching their breaths. 

“I’m Victor Frankenstein,” Victor said by way of introduction. 

“Robert. Robert Walton.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Robert. If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you here? Judging by your accent, you’re not from around this area. England, I'd wager?”

Robert nodded, but the thought of why he was so far from home made his chest ache with the memory of his incomplete journey. He sighed involuntarily, shoulders slumping forward. 

Victor looked at him curiously, so Robert waved a dismissive hand and said, “It’s a long story.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve no other plans today," he said, eyes alight. "You’re welcome to return home with me, if you'd like. I can see to it that you have a comfortable place to rest and something warm to eat. I know it's still early in the day, and maybe you have other places to be, but. . . What do you say?” 

Walton blinked in surprise. “You wouldn’t mind?” he asked.

Victor shook his head. “Not in the slightest. I’m sure my family would love to meet you and, so long as you’re willing, be an audience to your tale. They're the best listeners in the whole world, as far as I'm concerned.” 

Something swelled in Robert’s chest at this kind invitation, and he allowed Victor to take his hand and lead him down the mountain. 

“Since it rained last night, the descent can be kind of tricky,” Victor explained as they walked.

Robert nodded numbly, more concerned with the moisture on his hand than at his feet. But Victor didn’t seem to mind, and the two spoke amiably the entire way down. 

Robert was blown away by this friendly stranger, who seemed so at peace with himself, life, and nature. A light smile never left his lips, and he moved with a slight skip in his step, as though he loved nothing more than just being outside in the late morning sun.

Trying to read his welcoming host, Robert listened attentively to all the names he mentioned as he talked. He gathered there was someone named Justine, a friend or sister of whom he spoke with gaiety and a sort of loving fatigue. Next, was an Elizabeth, and there was something in the way he said this person's name that gave Robert pause. However, he mentioned in the next sentence that they were cousins — siblings practically — and Robert realized he had assumed wrong about the nature of their relationship. He chanced a question about this just to be sure.

"Elizabeth and me, engaged?" Victor asked, amused. "That almost happened, once about a time, but no, not anymore. We realized our feelings for one another, however strong, were just not conducive to marriage. We were raised together from such a young age, and we can't see each other as anything other than siblings. Besides, both our affections lie elsewhere." 

Whether or not he knew what he was doing, immediately after saying this, Victor began talking animatedly about someone by the name of Henry Clerval. Robert got the impression that this was the person he would much rather be marrying. The way he spoke of Henry, with his face aglow and eyes faraway, made Robert simultaneously embarrassed and envious. He wondered wistfully if he would ever have a relationship like that. 

"But I've been talking about myself a lot," Victor said about twenty minutes into their walk, though Robert felt he could listen to this man speak for days on end and never tire. "Tell me something about you."

Blushing, Robert insisted he didn't have anything nearly so interesting to say. But at Victor's persistence, he caved and decided to talk about his sister and closest friend, Margaret. He left out any details about his seafaring adventures and instead focused on his idyllic childhood in England. Victor listened enthusiastically, and Robert felt happier than he had in months. Something about being with Victor was just so easy. It felt right, almost — the first thing that had felt right to him since he had been in a ship sailing north. 

Just before reaching the front steps of the Frankenstein residence, Victor paused and turned to Robert. 

“You know," he began, echoing what was on Robert's mind, "there’s something about you. It’s hard to explain, but. . . We’ve never met before, have we? Maybe at school? Did you go to the University of Ingolstadt, by any chance?”

Sheepishly, Robert shook his head and explained that he was largely self-taught.

“Still,” Victor mused, biting on his thumbnail and eyeing Robert curiously. “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about you. . . ”

Robert was about to concur, but just then, two younger boys darted out of the house and flung themselves at Victor. One looked to be in his late teens or early twenties and was taller than Victor himself — though this wasn’t too impressive of a feat, considering Victor’s rather short stature. (It was only Victor's long legs that made him appear more than five and a half feet tall, Robert realized.) The other, more energetic one, was around eleven, with messy curls and bright eyes. Victor laughed and put an arm around each of the boys. 

“Ernest, William,” he said, beaming. “How are you?” 

“Milton’s trying to make breakfast,” the youngest chirped.

“It’s going horribly,” the other agreed. He was doing his best to maintain a disapproving frown, but his eyes were sparkling. “Smoke and burnt eggs everywhere!”

“Oh dear. . . “ Victor sighed and shook his head, giving Robert the impression this sort of thing happened a lot. Then, he looked up, and his gaze met Robert’s. “Please, excuse the mess.” Then, he explained, “These are my two brothers, Ernest and William.” He gestured to the sailor. “And this is Captain Robert Walton.”

"Pleased to meet you," Robert said. Then he paused and felt the corner of his lip twitch. “Wait. . . How’d you know I was a captain?”

Victor blinked. “Didn’t you say something about that earlier?”

Robert shook his head, certain that he had kept all his nautical stories to himself. 

“Huh." Victor looked perplexed for a few moments, but he quickly recovered. His smile returned and his whole demeanor relaxed. "Well, I suppose it just sounded right. Anyway, are you going to come in and meet the rest of the family, or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this story all the way to the end! <3 There is a LOT more to say for this AU, but I'll leave it as it is for now, and if I ever write anything more, I will be sure to post it. :) Thanks again, and I hope this was worth the read~ <3 <3
> 
> (Also, just so we're clear, Victor has two hands and is MORE than capable of being happily in love with both Henry and Robert.)


End file.
